


Their "Room"

by Vera_lemur



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM Scene, Dom/sub, Flogging, M/M, PWP, Restraints, Sensory Deprivation, Topping from the Bottom, Whipping, slightly unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1388026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_lemur/pseuds/Vera_lemur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason and Bruce have their differences, despite being very similar. They both have things they regret about their lives, things they feel they should be punished for. And so we explore their very unique and not entirely healthy dynamic between two individuals who know not enough and too much about love, hate, and hurt. Check the warnings boys and girls: Sticks and stones can break bones but whips and chains await thee.</p><p>This work is actually part of a series that is as of MAR14 not posted, but can be read without issue as a stand alone piece.</p><p>?Spoilers? for Under the Red Hood and vague events after Infinite Crisis. Are these technically still considered spoilers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Their "Room"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BestRobinEvr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BestRobinEvr/gifts).



> Here in the beginning we start with a scene with Dick and Damian, who are not listed in the fic tags because they are so briefly in this story it is misleading to do so. Their scene takes place during the time after Infinite Crisis, when Bruce is presumed dead. The rest of the story after the break is, obviously after Bruce's return. This is your final warning fanboys and fangirls, the young and or faint of heart should hit the back button now.
> 
> The rest of you? Enjoy!

Two access panels on either side of a wide double door set. Damian had never seen those doors opened, didn’t know what was behind the door at all, the door required two independent passcodes entered into each door simultaneously. Damian wasn’t getting in there without help, but when he’d TRIED to enlist Grayson to help him figure out what was behind those doors that it went UNLISTED in all the records and blueprints of the cave that Damian could find, Grayson had told him no.

“I already know what’s back there.” Dick said hesitantly, “More or less.”

“But you haven’t SEEN what’s in there. What if there’s something useful back there?” Damian had insisted, slapping the hand that ruffled his hair instead of attempting to stab it, which both of them considered an improvement.

“What’s back there is private. Between Bruce and Jason. It’s nothing that’s useful as far as what you’re thinking of.” Dick said delicately. “That room’s just where Bruce and Jason sorted out their differences.”

“That is infuriatingly VAGUE Grayson.” Damian shot back.

“Look. Your father…” Dick struggled with the way to WORD this, “He and Jason had a dynamic unlike the rest of us. Jason’s stubborn streak collided with Bruce’s a lot. Badly. If they didn’t sort themselves out in private it got nasty.”

“Father was intimate with Todd.” Damian stated flatly, “Like he was with you, and Drake, and others. Did the way they sorted themselves out have a sexual aspect?”

Dick sputtered indignantly before regaining enough composure to ask, “Where did you draw THAT conclusion from?”

“If Father and Todd were just physically fighting, they would use the mats in the training area. This room is locked in a way that requires the both of them to open it at once. Something that needs that kind of privacy could be sex. Seeing as how this seems to happen periodically we can reasonably rule out murder. They certainly wouldn’t need such a lock in the Bat Cave if they were merely sitting down and talking it out.” Damian reasoned. “I know of sex Grayson.”

“You are too young to be SAYING those things to me!” Dick all but whined. “Thank GOODNESS your father isn’t around to hear you say that.” If this were any other kid, Dick would be readying himself to hunker down and give a speech about how even though mommy and daddy weren’t married, and even though they still saw other people that didn’t mean they didn’t love one another and it didn’t mean they didn’t love their child. But Damian was, unfortunately, a unique case.

Though Talia claimed time and again that she ‘loved’ Bruce, Dick wondered about the veracity of her feelings, it could be very possible that she is merely interested, obsessed or captivated by Bruce, not actually in love with him. He wondered if Talia truly loved her son. He hoped she did, it would be worse for Damian if she didn’t. As far as Bruce had been concerned Dick had no doubt that he had loved his son from the moment he knew of his existence, even if he’d doubted his genetics and trustworthiness at first. Bruce’s feelings for Talia were a trickier story. There again, he didn’t know for sure if Bruce had ever LOVED Talia.

“What’s behind those doors that is so private then?” Damian asked after a moment, “If it’s just sex, then what’s the big secret? The bed they use?”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what’s in there exactly.”

“-tt- but you KNOW what’s in there. Explain it to me.” Damian countered.

“No way in hell.” Dick promised. “If you wanna traumatize yourself go google BDSM with the safe search off.”

‘Well,’ Dick later reasoned with himself, ‘I didn’t ACTUALLY say that’s what was behind those doors, but trust a Wayne to put two and two together.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason had avoided the Bat Cave whenever possible while Bruce was thought to be dead. It wasn’t hard to do, Damian was a little shit that was just as inclined to injure Jason as Jason was to knock the little shit around. Still, Jason wanted to steer clear of their room. The old man being gone, just seeing the door would be a knife to the heart he didn’t need. Now, Bruce was back and they still used that room on occasion, when they needed it.

When he fucking fought tooth and nail for it. Like Always.

Jason didn’t see what the fucking ISSUE was. They both knew that they NEEDED that room, hell it might be better if they used it a shade more regularly than they did.

Bruce would always brush him off and push him aside. It was God damn infuriating because Jason was RIGHT and Bruce knew it and even when Jason was right he couldn’t win. He had to force Bruce into it every time. Leaving the man no choice but to bodily drag JASON to the doors, keying in his code almost too quickly for Jason to key in his, which at that point the keypad slid away and a handprint scanner was revealed, so god forbid Jason finally goad Bruce into getting his ass in gear with his gauntlets on. Once that was out of the way the doors would FINALLY open. All that needless security for something Jason would have just put up a sign, ‘Enter at risk of your own mental sanity.’ and let it be. Someone wanted to get nosy? They’d regret it.

Oh sure, Jason was nearly certain Dick had a good idea of what was in their room, and lil’ Timmy was probably aware of the facts, but not the reality. Steph had NO idea and Jason was pretty sure Bruce was working to keep it that way, not particularly out of concern for Stephanie’s virgin eyes, but more to keep her gossiping mouth from blabbing it to all the rest of Gotham’s posse. Jason wasn’t concerned, if he ever found out that Steph knew, he had enough embarrassing tidbits on her to ensure Bruce’s privacy stayed Jason’s little secret.

There was no way in hell he was going to share the Bruce he got to experience in their room with anyone lightly. The Bruce that gave him the one thing he needed.

When he could get the man to LISTEN for ten fucking minutes.

~

“I assume you sterilized everything from last time.” Jason said, shedding gear like a cheap prom dress, “But that doesn’t matter because once I tell you what I’ve got in mind you’re just going to sterilize them again.” Jason said with a toss-away air. Part of it was Bruce’s obsessive nature, part of it was his abject concern for whatever was going to be used to be ensured clean before they used it. 

“Get the multiple D-ring collar ready, the thick leather wrist and ankle cuffs, the ones on the spreader bars, not the ones on the chains. A set of nipple clamps, dealer’s choice because you broke my favorite clover clamps. I know you’ve probably fixed them by now, but this is the price we pay for lack of control; I don’t get my favorite toys. Turn on the ice maker, get something with an edge in it. I know you hate blades, you’re going to get over that too. Get the brown whip, and the padded whipping post. I’m going to shower off Gotham’s grime really quick. I want you ready for me when I get out Bruce. Don’t disappoint me.”

As Jason steps into the shower there are days he wonders if he has a second death wish. He knows he doesn’t, not actually, but any other time, any other person who would try to talk to BRUCE like that? Oh god. Jason soaps up, cleaning body and hair quickly and efficiently as he tries to steady himself for the delicate balance that he’s going to have to keep for the next while. Bruce is out there, cleaning all the gear and getting everything in place, taking into account everything Jason asked him to get ready and deducing what Jason wants and how he wants it from that. Bruce always delivers, maybe not exactly HOW Jason imagines what he needs, but always what he needs.

Jason steps out of the bathroom area and stares defiantly at Bruce.

“Took your time, urchin.” Bruce snapped, “Are you lazy, or are you just so covered in Gotham’s filth that it will never ACTUALLY wash off?”

The remark is well aimed, and Jason feels his knees wanting to buckle but he stays standing, Bruce hasn’t earned it yet. He’s half in and half out of his uniform. Cape, Cowl, and gloves gone, utility belt on a table, but he’s still in the shirt and pants and boots. Still enough of Batman that Jason wants to feel obstinate.

“Will you ever learn respect? Or is it actually a lost cause trying to teach a street kid manners?” That one was designed to make him try and lash out. Jason doesn’t disappoint.

“Only as much of a lost cause as trying to teach a playboy punctuality.” Jason ribbed, “I was making sure you had enough time to get all your pretty bats in a row.” The dig is vague, but between them, in this room, remarks on how Bruce was just ever so slightly too late to save Jason are just par for the course to fall from Jason’s lips. Not that Jason blames Bruce or even cares about the fact that he was late, Bruce CAME for him. That was enough. The distinction was that it hadn’t been enough for Bruce, which was why Jason used it.

“You have three seconds to be in front of me before I drag you there with the whip at your neck.” Bruce said flatly, not bothering to respond.

Jason was already on the move even as he shot back, “Promises, promises.” Bruce would keep his promises in this room, Jason knew, he was banking on it. He stood, deliberately staring at the downturn of Bruce’s mouth. He was stubborn, not suicidal. He knew better than to attempt eye-contact.

“You think you’re worth enough to stand there? You had more honor in death. Your thoughtless actions have laid you low, so get down where you belong.” And THAT was worth the buckling in Jason’s knees. Jason knelt, allowing himself a luxury he couldn’t afford in any other room on the planet. Jason felt sorry.

“Thoughtless and reckless, is it any wonder why you need to be collared?” Bruce picked up the collar Jason had indicated earlier, “There might be hope for you yet, if you understand the need to get you under control and submit to being collared.”

Oooooooh, he HAD to go and use the S-word. Sure, that’s what Jason was doing here, but that didn’t mean he LIKED the word submit. To him it sounded too much like surrender. Giving up. That sort of thing just wasn’t IN Jason, it had to be put there. Still though, Bruce had used the H-word too. Hope. Hope for Jason. Jason grit his teeth, stared at the ceiling over Bruce’s shoulder and tried hard to pretend he wasn’t ‘presenting’ his neck for his collar.

“Urchin, practically feral.” Bruce commented, securing the collar. “But you stayed, you at least acknowledge your failings. In that, I at least have a means to correct them.”

And that was the other F-word. Failing. “Failure” hurt worse than “Fuck” in this room. Bruce suddenly had a hand on Jason’s head, forcing him face down on the floor, ass in the air. What the? Oh god, how had Jason MISSED that this was the part of the room that had the ring set into the floor. Bruce allowed Jason to watch as he removed the circular cover that kept someone from carelessly tripping over the sudden divot in the floor. Bruce connected a foot and a half long chain to a D-ring in his collar, through the ring in the floor and connecting once more at his collar. Jason was more or less on his hands and knees, head forced to hang in penance. God, did he need this.

“Bind my hands. My feet.” Jason said, a little breathy, a far cry from the casual authority he’d spoken with before his shower.

“We don’t move on your whims but mine, urchin. When I decide to restrain what on you is not for you to do anything but endure.” Bruce snapped, and really, if Jason wasn’t calling the shots Bruce could have said, “You’re in no position to be making demands here,” but Bruce just can’t seem to lie in this room, so the reality that Jason actually is in a position to be making demands is carefully sidestepped by the equally true sentiment that yes Bruce will follow Jason’s orders, but in his own time in his own way.

Jason knows that he’s just cost himself his restraints for this first part. He wonders how it’s going to happen. His nipples aren’t clamped yet and the position is poor for doing that now, though Bruce COULD make him do it himself, but he rarely does. Jason’s punishments are to be administered by Bruce, there’s little point in Jason punishing himself. He’d never get anything out of it.

Because that’s what this is. Jason being sorry for all that he’s failed Bruce, and being punished for it. Is he going to get the iced blade? Or the whip? Is Bruce going to incorporate something of his own choosing?

“Now that we have you in a more penitent posture, why don’t we start by you telling me your failings?” Bruce says, his heavy boots coming to a stop in front of Jason’s downturned face. Jason’s going to get whipped for each one of his sins. Oh man, if Bruce does this right, Jason will be kissing those boots before long. Jason can only hope.

“I’ve taken the lives of innocents.” Jason tells the boots, the spotless floor, Jason knows that he’s bled on this patch of floor before, but Bruce has cleaned it so well he can’t tell where. Jason waits for the blow, trying hard not to tense because that will make it worse, but nothing happens.

“You have taken lives. Regardless of them being innocent or guilty you are not Judge, Jury, and Executioner, if you’re going to be sorry for taking some of the lives you’ve snuffed out you had better be sorry for all of them or none of them.” Bruce corrects, letting the whip uncurl and the tasseled end fall to the ground with an innocuous pat. Jason isn’t fooled, he’s heard the crack it can make.

“I have killed many people.” Jason corrects himself, Bruce’s words hit home; he doesn’t always remember to be sorry for the drug dealers, the muggers, the gang members. It’s harder to be sorry for those lives taken, but at the very least he’s sorry that he took the lives in the first place, even if he’s still on the fence about the people whom were attached to those lives. And he has just enough time to feel the weight of his failure before the whip comes down on his back, not once, not twice, five times. The stinging, searing burn is nothing pleasant, but it’s somehow absolving. Tears sting Jason’s eyes and it doesn’t matter if it’s for the lives he took or for the stripes on his back now. He’s not crying yet, but he will be, he’s thought of his next failing. “I broke my oath to you.”

Six blows. “And still you don’t know how to address me, wretch.”

“I broke my oath to you, Sir.”

“Better. If late.” Jason has to fight to make sure his cheek or tongue doesn’t get caught between his teeth, this time it was seven whip cracks. Oh shit. Even Jason can do THIS math. The tears are flowing a bit freer now, but he’s still not actually crying yet.

“I’ve hurt my brothers.” eight strikes.

“I control part of the drug trade in Gotham and profit from it.” nine strikes.

“I…” And Jason is crying now, he can’t even feel weak about it, “I deliberately tried to force you to kill.”

Ten strikes.

“I-I couldn’t just stay dead.” Jason sobs, “At least when I died I was still Robin. Why couldn’t it have just stayed like that?” Jason lets himself cry, and a few minutes too late he realizes he hasn’t been whipped.

“Of all the things one can find fault in you.” Bruce says flatly, “Your tendency to lead with your temper, for instance. One thing that is not your fault is that you were brought back.” Jason hears more than sees the boots move away from him, the sounds of things being put down and picked up, the tinkle of thin metal against metal.

“It was not your choice to die, just like it wasn’t your choice to live again.” Jason’s left hand is taken up, cuffed, there is a bar that rests on his shoulders. His right hand is moved into a matching cuff, the bar balances, his hands hang by his head. Jason is crying harder now, he can’t keep his head up and just lets his forehead rest on the floor while Bruce shackles his ankles, releases his collar, but keeps the chain.

“Stand.” and Bruce has to take the brunt of his weight, but Jason does it. Jason is led to the whipping post he asked for, he wonders if he’s going to be whipped again. The sarcastic little shit in the back of his head comments that that would be boring, but it’s a small voice right now. Jason’s spreader bar at his ankles is secured to the post, the bar resting on his shoulders brought up and secured over Jason’s head. Jason is given a blindfold, which at this point is a mercy so Jason just lets it happen.

“You have no ability to move. You can’t see. Is it your fault what happens to your body?” Bruce asks, but Jason doesn’t have time to answer, the ice cold of a blade is at his back, a nearly painful temperature contrast to the stinging welts that the whip has made all over his back. The difference would hurt, if Jason hadn’t endured so much more that was so much worse. “If I chose to cut a design into your back, is that your fault?”

In a way it is, since Jason is TOTALLY letting Bruce do this to him. They’re both ignoring the fact that these spreader bars are made in such a way that if Jason rotates his right wrist at the correct angle he can slip his cuffed hand off the spreader bar. It’s a safety measure, like their safe words. In theory Jason is the one in charge, he needs a method to get out of anything Bruce can put him in. If Bruce decides to carve his name into Jason’s ass it will be because Jason decided to LET him do it.

The blade moves to Jason’s throat, just above his collar. “If someone were to cut your throat when you couldn’t move or see, it isn’t your fault if you die.”

Bruce would never. He’d never ever do that, after all the angst about him dying then coming back, he’d never take Jason’s life. Knowing that however, doesn’t stop the accelerated breathing, the quickening pulse. Natural instincts for someone who’s had his life threatened far too many times.

“However, You’re correct about the rest of it. You have much that needs to be corrected.” The blade is cold, so bitingly cold, and then it’s gone, only to come back colder. Bruce must have put multiple blades in the ice. The sarcastic little shit in his head smirks and praises Bruce. Jason wishes he could make that voice in his head SHUT UP.

The line of ice focuses to a point, which Bruce trails down what feels like each stripe laid on his body. How many was that again? 5 plus 10 is 15 so is 7 and 8, that’s 30-- “OH GOD THAT FEELS SO FUCKING!” Jason clamps down on his teeth, avoiding his tongue and cheeks again, He isn’t sure how Bruce was feeling about his speaking without being spoken to, nor about profanity. Jason crosses his eyes against the sensations that Bruce is inflicting on him.

Bruce neither hesitates nor reacts to the outburst, which truthfully means NOTHING about how Jason is going to be treated for it. Jason feels like each lash is being cut open, the sensation is screaming through his brain, he tries not to thrash, he tries to be good for Bruce. His body twitches and he’s doing everything he can to ignore what he sounds like.

“You cannot control the world. Cannot control people.” Jason wonders if Bruce is talking to him. “It’s the most beautiful tragedy, that they just will not all fall in line. Some are meant to lead, some to destroy, the rest, to follow.” Yeah, DEFINITELY not talking to Jason anymore. “You try and it’s like trying to hold wind in your hands. You fail, and it just adds to your long list. Another of your failures for the record books.

“Each failure is another lash on your body, each reminder is that line being cut open again.” Jason could see the analogy, could almost appreciate it as he shook with the effort to stay where he was and take his lines. “The question arises, why do you STAND there only to be whipped and cut open again?”

Why was he standing here? Why was he letting Bruce do this to him? He had answers, at least to the reasons of right now. He needed this, he even wanted this in a way, he was sorry, he was trying. “If I don’t try, someone else gets hurt. If I don’t-don’t stand here, someone else gets whipped.” Jason stammered, not really knowing if Bruce wanted him talking right now but needing to answer. “I can take it.” Jason breathed, then belatedly added, “Sir.”

He was nearly done tracing the lines, Was this a new blade or not? Was he going to be punished for speaking? Would he be praised?

“You can take it?”

That tone of voice did NOT sound like Jason was going to be praised.

“You can take it. Is that so? How interesting.” Oh shit, Jason worried what his big mouth had gotten him into this time.

“Very well.” And right at the moment Jason hated the blindfold, he couldn’t SEE what Bruce was doing. What would happen next?

The sounds of heavy footfalls, Bruce was back at the table. There was sounds of movement, things clinked and shuffled, the table, (apparently the rolling one) was moved closer to the padded whipping post. Jason’s breath was loud to his own ears but he knew that his perception was a little skewed at being denied his sight. That didn’t stop him from attempting to regulate his breath. Would his reverting to training please or incite Bruce?

Steps, Bruce was coming around the whipping post. Jason had no time to wonder as his nipple was unceremoniously grabbed, the pinched flesh caught in one of the clamps he’d requested and then the chain was looped over the bar. The one with the adjustable long chain then. Jason was caught by the throat without warning and Bruce lifted him up with one arm until Jason was on the balls of his feet. Jason wished he could say he was surprised at Bruce’s strength, but he wasn’t. At most he could only admit to being surprised at the sudden grab to his neck.

Jason didn’t need to be told to stay where he’d been put as his other nipple was clamped. The resulting tension in the chain was less than Jason thought he was going to have to work with, but that was only good news, wasn’t it?

Something else was being grabbed and Jason’s cock was now being manhandled, something semi soft but firm being attached to the base of his dick, right up against the top of his nutsack. ‘Well, there are only a few options on what THAT is.’ Jason thought. The vibrating bullet was strapped in place, not tightly to Jason’s perception, but he was still flaccid. When Bruce turned that thing on, Jason wouldn’t stay that way. The strap, now comfortable, even perhaps a little loose would become tight, effectively a cock ring.

“You can take it, you told me. Well, we’ll see if you aren’t lying urchin.” Objectively, Jason realized he wasn’t being punished necessarily FOR speaking, but rather what he’d said. A fine hair to split, but trust a Bat to do any hair splitting necessary.

The rules weren’t spoken, but then again Jason knew Bruce so well he really didn’t have to be told them to know what they were. “Endure what you are given, if you speak a safe word it stops, if a clamp pops off because you go flat footed it stops, if you deliberately remove your hand from your restraints it stops. Maybe if none of that happens, when I break you, it stops.” But Jason knew he’d go flat footed or call a safe word before that last one would happen. The only thing he didn’t know was if he was allowed to freely beg. Not that begging the Batman ever got a sinner much by way of mercy. Particularly not repeat offenders, like Jason silently considered himself.

The vibe started up, and Jason pulled himself higher to his toes at the sudden stimulus, thinking that he couldn’t keep this up forever, and really wasn’t that the point when fire splashed across his back.

No, that was pain trying to trick him into being nonsensical, helped by the distraction of his cock slowly starting to rise and harden, his nipples hurting but also whispering pleasure in a cacophony of mixed messages that made it hard to think clearly. Another punishment tool, not firm enough to be a cane, too many points of impact besides, likely some kind of flogger, maybe the bat’o’nine tails? Jason might have laughed if Bruce hadn’t flogged him again. It had been the most atrocious gift, in horrible taste, but the flogger with the bat crest stamped on the pummel and painted bright and vibrant yellow in the oval outline around the glossy black of the bat was just the single most hilarious thing Jason could think of. Bruce had beat him with it until he’d finally stopped snickering about it the night he’d given it to him. So worth it.

Jason could appreciate the special kind of agony he was in. Sure, nothing really to being beaten near to death with a crowbar, but Bruce wasn’t trying to kill him. His feet and calves would soon start to ache from being forced to bear his weight, making him want to lower himself and pull on the chain which would tug his nipple clamps, sending him back to his toes and giving him next to no relief while his cock confused the hell out of his brain by feeling pleasure though all the torment which would only be agreed to by his nipples who when not feeling like they were going to be ripped off, didn’t hurt so much as vaguely turn him on. Then there was the flogger. The flogger just hurt, but with his body so confused with pain and pleasure it wouldn’t be something so outrageous for him to get some pleasure out of his flogging too. That is, Jason knew, until he got so hard that his erection started causing him pain. Around that time he would be sore in his calves and feet to the point that he would have to figure out how to relieve the stress he would be feeling, possibly lift one foot then the other, just to rest the muscles.

Jason wondered if Bruce would punish him for outwitting one of his tortures, or if he would be allowed to endure what Bruce had planned for him more. Jason didn’t bother hoping for praise, he knew he wouldn’t get any.

Minutes passed, and though time stretched in his mind Jason KNEW it had to be only minutes. If Bruce had kept a regular tempo Jason might even have a better handle on how long. Jason couldn’t endure without relief anymore, he lifted his left foot, using his spreader bar connected to the whipping post to hold and balance him as he rotated the foot as best he could in the ankle cuff, before setting it down and lifting the right foot and relieving that too.

The flogging stopped, and Jason thought his blood ran cold. Then the cold of the blade returned, not tracing his whip lines anymore but making marks into his skin, which Jason guessed to be letters to make a word. A short word, Jason assumed because the flogging was back. That continued on some, though a bit more quickly now until it stopped again, and this time a new, longer word was written. And for a time that was the way of Jason’s existence. Burning flogging. Ice words into his flesh. Jason stayed on his toes, (somewhere in his endurance he found a moment to be amused by the imagery to ‘stay on his toes.’ How cute. A reminder to stay sharp when in the line of duty.) and as he needed it, relieved the screaming pain in his legs.

But it had to come to an end. Jason was losing it. It was starting to become too much. His throat was hoarse from whatever he’d been saying or screaming for the past while. Jason let his feet fall flat to the ground, causing one clamp to painfully slip free of the skin it had captured, and the feeling rush back to make even more pain sing through that part of him. But the blows stopped, just like he’d needed them to, and Bruce was already moving to undo his ankles, free his erection, taking away the collar, and remove the other clamp before moving to his wrists, ready in case Jason should drop.

Jason didn’t often fall into Bruce’s arms after a night together, but this time, with the stress in his legs he let himself. Bruce gathered Jason to him, lifting him by his thighs so Jason’s chest rested against Bruce’s, his erection pressed to the man’s firm stomach, his thighs on either side of his hips. Jason might have made a snarky comment about how sexual the position was, he wasn’t sure anymore the boundary between his outer and inner thoughts. In his mind he knew that Bruce carried him like this, not to make him aroused, not to make him feel like a child, but to spare his back as much pain as he could.

It was at only this part of the night that Jason could appreciate Bruce’s efforts. Jason was led into the other bathroom. Not the utilitarian one that Jason had used to shower, but the ‘aftercare bathroom’ as he thought of it. There was no shower stall, only a wide tub, wide enough for three and a shower head was detachable on a hose, it had about seven settings, each more gentle than the last one. The tub was filled, the water lukewarm, gently scented with almond. Lavender, they both knew, was more soothing, but Jason complained it was feminine and this was the way Bruce accommodated him. Jason let himself be lowered into the water, letting his limbs extend without stretching, and turning his back to Bruce only after he was asked to do so.

Even here, Jason had to be careful of his sub’s feelings, (because Bruce, even there, perhaps ESPECIALLY now, was still his sub) turning his back on Bruce without being asked to do so might be seen as a snub, and Bruce was too delicate right now for even the most casual brush off. It was probably a strange thing to think of, Bruce being the delicate one when Jason was the one with his back inflamed, but it made it no less true.

Bruce had been punishing himself even as he’d been striking Jason, even the act of striking Jason was something that pained Bruce deeply. The words carved into his back would likely be just as much for Jason as they were for Bruce. Jason kept quiet as he lifted himself up onto the edge of the tub, letting Bruce dab thick creams that would speed his healing but wouldn’t be washed away in the water. The blend that Bruce favored had a numbing agent in it, and Jason was pleased to hear a latex glove being slipped on Bruce’s hand because that meant that was the cream he’d chosen to treat him with.

Once the vast majority of his back was just a shadow of a dull ache, Jason heard the glove being removed, then felt the blindfold being taken off. Oh, he’d forgotten it was on. Jason turned, glad, if not surprised that Bruce had been careful NOT to badly injure any part of his skin that would strain the turning of his head. He turned to look at Bruce, to smile kindly at the miserable face. “Thank you.” Jason said, “That was even better than I had in mind.” 

Bruce didn’t respond, in Jason’s understanding what Bruce had done to him wasn’t something one said ‘you’re welcome’ to, (or at least, that seemed to be Bruce’s opinion). Bruce only took Jason’s hand and rubbed a soothing ointment of some kind into the reddened skin from his wrist cuffs. Even the good ones left some temporary marks. His other wrists and ankles were tended to and Jason grabbed the hand as it drew away.

“Can I see?”

Jason didn’t need to specify, and Bruce fetched the mirrors, one a hand mirror, and one the rough size of a portrait, in a similar ornate frame. Jason wondered if it was from one of the rooms in the house. in the double reflection Jason was able to read some of the words on his back. He’d been right, not all the words were aimed at him. Certainly Robin, and Prodigal were, but Your Fault was probably aimed at Bruce, as was Cost and TOO LATE. Some were more neutral, biting to both of them: Failure, and Weak and the like. It was hard to make out all of them through the stripes coloring his back. Thank god the cream applied to his skin was clear, or he wouldn’t be able to see anything.

Did the transparency of the substance make it a gel? Jason always wondered, but when he was like this he never got around to asking. 

“Thanks.” Jason said again, and again Bruce didn’t respond. The mirrors were put away and Jason slipped into the tub, the not too hot water easing his body. “Join me.” and it wasn’t spoken like an order, but Bruce would obey it all the same. Bruce stripped, climbing into the tub that was at least six inches deeper than was typical. A custom order, likely as not, and installed by Bruce himself. As though Bruce could hire a contractor to put in two new bathrooms in the Bat Cave. Bruce moved to Jason, as Jason moved to Bruce, resulting in Bruce leaning with his back against the wall of the tub, Jason resting on top of him.

“You haven’t cried yet Bruce.” Jason noted, and the statement was enough of a permission. Bruce’s hands went to his face, he couldn’t cling to Jason with his back as it was, and Jason held the man instead. Jason had had his crying, he felt good, maybe a little high on natural endorphins, knowing they wouldn’t last forever. Jason spotted the little medicine cup Bruce must have set down, probably intending to give to him before Jason had tipped the man’s tenuous composure.

Jason kissed what forehead he had access to. “That’s right, it’s okay to let it out, I’m right here. I got you.” Jason crooned. “Let yourself only worry about you for a moment, I found the painkillers you set aside for me. Just worry about you now.”

Jason reached and popped the two pills, giving the medicine cup a light toss into the sink. Bruce sobbed, his breath heaving and rocking Jason up and down. “Let it out, cry it out for me Bruce.” Jason coaxed. “I love you.”

If anything the last statement made Bruce cry harder for a moment, but that turned out to be the crest of Bruce’s emotional torrent, and it didn’t pick up again, but dwindle into quiet crying. All the while Jason whispered all the things Bruce needed to hear, all the truths. How he was loved, that he was wonderful, that it was alright to let himself have this moment. Eventually Bruce’s hands fell away, and Jason cupped his face and kissed him the way he only could after they were well into the aftercare. “Make love to me.”

It wasn’t an order but Jason wondered if Bruce knew that. Still the hands moved to the bottles kept on the rim of the tub grabbing not the soap or shampoo, but the lubricant. Waterbased, so they’d have to do the prep out of the water but Jason thought he could handle that. Jason let himself kiss Bruce’s face gently as Bruce kissed and touched and caressed back.

Jason lifted his ass out of the water, a signal for Bruce to go to work, and reveled in the fingers lovingly moving to spread him working the lube around and into him. Jason sighed out his pleasure, humming encouragement while he ignored his tormented and aching cock. Bruce needed this done slowly, so Jason could handle slowly.

He could, after all, take it.

One finger in, moving straight for his prostrate before Jason warned him off. He’d been hard for a while, denied orgasm for just as long and didn’t want to tempt fate. Bruce wasn’t hard, not at the start of this, but at Jason’s enjoyment his cock started to show interest, which Jason aided by putting his now free hands to work.

Jason felt sloppy, probably because he’d been beaten so well, but he did his best to work Bruce into an erection he could work with. Two fingers in and Jason hissed through a grin at the familiar and welcome tension. Once Bruce had used the numbing agent to the outside of his anus, but Jason hadn’t liked it, saying later that it took away the pleasant feeling of being stretched then full. Three fingers, and Bruce’s fingers weren’t dainty and thin either.

“Please let me have you, Bruce please.” Jason panted, and even to his own ears he could hear the difference between the breathy words of not fifteen minutes before. No one could mistake his words for an order now, but the request they truly were and still Bruce indulged him.

‘God, if there is a God and if that God gives a shit.’ Jason prayed silently, irreverently, ‘Bless this man.’

Hands once attentive to his asshole now gripped his thighs, moving Jason into proper position over Bruce, Jason’s hands rested on Bruce’s upper chest, hands finding his collarbone as they often did and Jason deliberately moved his hands down so as not to stress the thin bones. Those two bones had been broken and stressed enough without Jason’s contribution.

Jason felt Bruce at his entrance, felt the hands grab at his asscheeks gripping in the way Jason loved as he lowered himself down. Thicker than three fingers, but that was the point. If Bruce had added his pinky it wouldn’t pull the way Jason wanted. It would have stretched him too much, and Bruce was a slow and patient hand at THAT practice as it was. Jason deliberately angled away from his prostate again, wanting, almost needing Bruce to enjoy this as much as he would, and Bruce would let him set the pace.

So Jason set the pace he liked, moving and remembering to circle his hips deliberately for Bruce as much as himself. Bruce began to grunt and Jason took the opportunity to whisper words of love, knowing it would spark Bruce to do the same. He wouldn’t likely hear these words again until the next time he coaxed Bruce into this room. Honesty between the two of them was next to impossible, not in the least helped by either of them.

Finally there was something in the grip of Jason’s ass that had him angling himself so Bruce would hit his prostate. Jason came first and this fire that ripped through him was white and just as welcome as the red that had burned through him earlier. Though he would admit he preferred a good orgasm to a flogging on the day to day.

Bruce came not too long after, and in Jason’s mind the mental tally of who came first was once again tied. He didn’t know why he kept track, it was stupid. Nevertheless he couldn’t seem to stop taking note.

“Thank you.” Jason said again and this time wonderfully, Bruce responded.

“You’re welcome Jason.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


PSA:  
It is a note of this author for any and all readers who are considering dabbling in BDSM. PLEASE, while this is a semi safe example of what a scene should be DO NOT use this as an example you should follow, rather an example for you to learn from the mistakes therein. 

First and foremost: COMMUNICATION is paramount. Several points in this scene are left without any communication, before or after (as far as the fic depicts, but with these characters in this setting there was not and will not be much further communication happening before or after events of this fic either.) and that is NOT healthy. Jason did give a rough outline of the things he wanted used on his person he did in fact, NOT communicate properly to his sub how he wanted them used on him. Bruce, who would be the one using each implement was left adrift on how to incorporate these things. 

Second, as alluded to at several points, Bruce and Jason are NOT a good match for one another in terms of a Dom/sub Relationship. Jason thanks Bruce for the scene, but Bruce feels guilty for his actions, Jason will not allow himself to become immersed in the scene because in his mind he is babysitting Bruce. Their lack of communication, indeed their REFUSAL to communicate makes these two a bad match.

Yes, there were good practices shown, known safe words, boundaries, and aftercare, but this does not forgive the facts that the one doing the flogging did not verbally define any and all parameters of the encounter. Even when two partners know each other well the flogger can have any number of whims that render 'usual boundaries' moot. Jason is almost never told what will give him punishment, and so does not know how to 'be good' and earn praise, which he so quietly seeks.

Please, if you wish to indulge in kink, remember SSCC. Safe, Sane, Consensual, Communication. There are other acronyms, other sayings, but this one is the one I like.

**Author's Note:**

> Sing your praises forevermore to my beloved, here known as BestRobinEvr, for the birth and fruition of this and all my Batman fics.
> 
> This story is, again, part of a larger series, which may or may not be posted at a later date for your viewing pleasure, but this little side trip fell into place so neatly and stood alone so well I was compelled to post it on it's own. Want to know where this is from? Please utilize the below method!
> 
> As with all of my fics, I am a proud card carrying feedback junkie and I encourage you that this indulgence, though habit forming, is indeed one that is very safe for the indulgence of all. Please, DO feed the feedback Junkie.


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